


Rigorous Data Collection

by Alethia



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Christmas Party, Denial of Feelings, Developing Relationship, Drunken Kissing, F/M, First Time, Holidays, Kissing, Mistletoe, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-17 23:26:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21984712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alethia/pseuds/Alethia
Summary: "Why is there a plant secured to the ceiling?" Michael asked, swinging her gaze from Pike to Tilly. Some of the other crewmembers exchanged amused glances."It's mistletoe, Michael," Tilly said, her pointed tone indicating this was of some import.Michael wished she knew the import.
Relationships: Michael Burnham/Christopher Pike
Comments: 49
Kudos: 214





	Rigorous Data Collection

**Author's Note:**

> In TOS "Dagger of the Mind" they mention a Christmas party, which canonically takes place after this season of DIS, so I'm taking that as license to play the same. Also posted [here](https://alethia.dreamwidth.org/1050797.html).

Michael spotted Pike ahead of her, depositing his tray in the mess hall's disposal area, and took the opportunity to ask a question that had been nagging at her: "A Christmas party, sir?" 

Pike turned, that little half-smile on his face. Behind him, green and red garlands decorated the space, flanked by blue and white snowflakes. Tilly was going all-out with the décor, which had sprouted up all over the common areas of the ship in preparation for the coming party. 

"Uh-oh. I'm in trouble now," he said, dry. Teasing. 

"I can't imagine what you mean," she shot back, equally dry as she deposited her tray and joined him. 

"I may still be new around here, but I know that tone."

"Heard it a lot, have you?" she asked, deadpan. 

"Usually accompanied by a no-nonsense genius eyeing me like a small schoolchild." He cocked his head at her, pointed. 

"See, all I heard there was you calling me a genius."

"What, is someone fishing for compliments?" he asked, light. "Be assured, Commander, your superior intellect is rivaled only by your charm."

Something inside Michael warmed, though it was instantly followed by a chill. That was...too much. She looked away. "Well, now you're just telling tales."

"I would never," he said, the mock-offended tone drawing her eyes back, his smile genuine. "But to answer your question, yes, a Christmas party. Or holiday party. End-of-the-year party. Call it whatever you like."

Michael clung to the safe topic with relief. "This is a tradition of yours?" she guessed, studying him, seeing that this mattered. 

He nodded, the gentle teasing transforming into a kind of reverence. "Something I picked up from Robert when I was his XO. It's not religious, if that's the concern. The point is to commemorate the time we spend together."

Michael shook her head. "Does that need commemorating?"

"Absolutely," Pike said firmly. "We spend so much of our lives going going going, it's important to look around and celebrate what we have. Celebrate each other. It's a chance to take stock and appreciate how lucky we are to be with each other, doing what we love. The _Enterprise_ crew's doing it without me this year, I figure, why not spread a little cheer?"

Michael took him in, so _earnest_ , doing his best to honor those he served with, even if it had only been for a few weeks. She swallowed against the ache of that, shoving it aside in favor of nodding, once. "Very good, sir."

A voice interrupted then: "Uh, I think the pride of Starfleet needs to work on his situational awareness," Tilly teased from behind them. Michael turned, clocking Pike doing the same, finding Tilly and a few other crewmembers watching the two of them from the greater part of the mess hall, many wearing highly suspicious smiles. 

Michael looked at her quizzically, but Tilly just pointed above them, some odd smile on her face. 

In unison, Michael and Pike looked up—

To find a green plant secured above their heads, its red ribbon indicating it was definitely purposeful. Michael frowned, not understanding. 

Beside her, Pike sighed. "Okay, now I'm regretting the Christmas party," he muttered.

Michael looked over at him, puzzled. He seemed faintly chagrined, a kind of _just my luck_ air to him that she didn't understand. 

He didn't elaborate, so she decided to clarify: "Why is there a plant secured to the ceiling?" Michael asked, swinging her gaze from Pike to Tilly. Some of the other crewmembers exchanged amused glances. 

"It's mistletoe, Michael," Tilly said, her pointed tone indicating this was of some import. 

Michael wished she knew the import. 

"Okay. Why is there mistletoe secured to the ceiling?" she asked gamely.

"Wait, seriously?" Tilly asked, like she wasn't sure and wanted to check. 

Michael shifted, something uncomfortable settling in her gut. This was clearly a human tradition of which she was unaware. People only reacted with that kind of disbelief when she was missing some shared cultural experience. 

Pike took a breath, turning to her smoothly. "It's an old Earth tradition. At Christmas, people would hang mistletoe. Any couple who finds themselves under it is obliged to kiss."

Michael blinked as his meaning sank in. 'Any couple'—but that would imply that _they_ should—and kissing? "That is _completely_ illogical," she protested. 

Pike laughed at that, tipping his head in agreement. 

Not Tilly. "It's _fun_ , Michael. Remember fun? That thing you have sometimes when I make you?"

Michael puzzled it out, ruthlessly ignoring the rolling in her gut that came from the idea of "kissing" and "Pike" in the same thought. She frowned at Tilly. "Wait, so you expect us to kiss because we happened to wander under the same plant at the same time? What possible social purpose could this serve?"

"Oh, my god, of course you're going all xenoanthropologist on this," Tilly muttered, to a few scattered laughs. 

Pike answered the question, ever reasonable. "I believe it started back in the days when kissing wasn't quite so socially acceptable. This was a loophole." He shrugged. "Or it could've been men taking an opportunity to initiate unwanted intimacy. Given so much of Earth's history, could go either way, really," he said, mild in that way he had. 

"But these days, it's seen as _fun_ ," Tilly emphasized, shooting Pike a look like she didn't appreciate his negativity. Then she refocused on Michael. "Stop opposing fun, Michael."

"I'm not opposed to it, I simply want to—" Her voice died as Pike stepped close, the hint of warmth of another body nearing, but not touching. She _froze_ as he leaned in—

And ghosted a kiss over her cheek, the bright bloom of heat under her skin utterly at odds with the soft contact. A bare instant and he was pulling away, _something_ glittering in his eyes before he turned back to Tilly with a curt, "There." 

A kind of amused murmur rumbled through the gathered crew as Michael just stared at the line of his throat, utterly shaken. Realizing she was staring, she snapped her attention back to Tilly, heat pulsing through her alongside that uncomfortable feeling of being caught out in front of everyone.

Tilly frowned at Pike, but offered a reluctant, "I suppose that will do." Her judgment delivered, the other crew started to disperse, people still flashing them amused glances as they wandered away. 

Pike quirked a smile at Tilly. "Well, now that I know I better be on my toes. Ensign." He nodded to her in farewell. Then he looked back to Michael. "Commander." That held an odd kind of resonance, nothing Michael could pinpoint, but he'd never said her rank like that. Like it was something...intimate. 

But Pike gave no indication anything was unusual, simply nodded again and walked off. 

Tilly joined Michael as they both watched Pike move away, greeting people as he went, genial and open. "You're gonna be the envy of half the ship," Tilly said idly. Then she seemed to reconsider. "Maybe more than half."

Michael swallowed against the shaken feeling within her, refusing to fade despite her attempts to shove it aside. It was unseemly. "What? Why?"

Tilly looked at her like she should know better. "Do you know how many people would do somewhat questionable things to have that man's lips on them?"

Heat _pulsed_ within Michael. "...no?"

"Let's just say it's not a short list," Tilly said like this was Known Information. 

"It was...nothing of note," Michael said, kind of hitching in the middle of that. Hopefully Tilly didn't notice.

"Yeah, that kiss should have been the real deal, but you know Pike. Honor and all that."

Michael stared at her. "Human traditions are _baffling_."

***

The problem was she couldn't get it out of her mind. The ghost of feeling against her skin, the heat that had bloomed within her, the _look_ in his eyes as he pulled away. Pike saying her rank like it was something murmured between lovers. 

It was...not what she should think about. At all. She'd specifically avoided thinking anything about Pike. One didn't think of one's captain in such terms. Especially not charming, handsome, honorable captains who tried their hardest to do the right thing. It was disrespectful to take all that and make it...prurient. 

But the more she fought against those thoughts, the stronger they got. 

She started _noticing_ things. The way he waved his hands when he talked. The line of his shoulders. The way he _walked_ , not just that he seemed in command of any room he entered, but that he didn't use it as a weapon or a shield. He still paused for others, allowing them to take precedence, like he didn't need to prove anything. 

The way he just...opened up whenever they were together, no distance at all, a kind of emotional vulnerability Michael couldn't _fathom_. 

"My father liked Christmas," he murmured when she lingered in his ready room after a briefing, studying the small spiny plant that had appeared on his desk, capped with a red-and-white hat she'd been seeing around more as the party approached. 

Michael looked up to find something complicated in his expression, a kind of yearning mixed with disappointment.

"Is that why you like having a Christmas party? It reminds you of your youth?" she asked, still trying to understand. Nostalgia was familiar to her, the comfort of reading _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_ reminding her of the safety of Amanda's arms.

"Maybe some part. But I do think we all need to celebrate each other more." He tipped his head, something wry in it. "Number One could do a little less." He nodded to the plant. "Her gift to me."

Michael looked at it in a new light. "A taunt?"

"If Number One's gestures don't speak on more than one level, I know I'm missing at least half the conversation," he said, rueful, nothing but affection in his voice. It warmed something inside her, this obvious adoration he had for his crew, that he shared so easily. 

"It's to your credit that you have so many who care."

"You'd think caring would come with a little less mockery."

Michael slanted a look at him. "Don't police people's love like that." 

Playfulness bloomed in his eyes, Pike tossing back, "Hey now. That's your captain you're speaking to," with mock seriousness.

"We're all terribly impressed," she agreed. "Maybe you should show us your service record some more." 

Pike grinned, bright and happy on a deeper level than this conversation would seem to warrant, affection shining at her, a little overwhelming to be faced with it so directly. 

Michael flushed with the _want_ that suddenly swept through her, focused in a way that felt dangerous. She murmured some kind of farewell—she couldn't say what—then took her leave. Hopefully he hadn't noticed. 

In the privacy of the turbolift, she sagged, closing her eyes as the feelings refused to go away, the memory of that smile lingering, like the ghostly halo when you looked at a light too long. 

She knew it was irrational to be angry at mistletoe...but she couldn't seem to help herself. 

Dammit. 

***

"You have been super distracted lately," Tilly said, pressing a blue dress to herself and studying her image in the holo-mirror before discarding it and choosing another from her pile. 

Michael looked up from her PADD, where she'd been staring at the same data set for ten minutes. "What?"

"You've been staring at the same data for ten minutes," Tilly said breezily, like she wasn't tracking Michael's reading habits while simultaneously considering dresses. 

Tilly's multitasking really was something. 

"I'm just tired," Michael said, which was technically true. She'd found herself lying awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying moments that she'd shared with Pike like someone who did that sort of thing. 

"Uh-huh," Tilly said, her voice implying she knew that wasn't all of it, but wasn't going to push. That, at least, was a small mercy. 

"What are you doing?" Michael asked, setting the PADD aside in defeat. 

"Figuring out my dress for the party. Which reminds me, you should get on that."

Michael froze, startled. In the holo-mirror, Tilly raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Don't even."

"I don't—"

"You are going to the Christmas party and you're wearing a dress," Tilly said, like this was not up for discussion. 

"I'm really very—"

"If you're about to say you're busy with work, I swear to god..."

Michael sighed. "You know I'm not good at parties."

"You won't get better at them sitting here," Tilly shot back, which was a reasonable response, she could admit. And yet something in her still rebelled. 

Tilly seemed to sense it, turning from the holo-mirror, her gaze soft. "Look, I'll be with you. You know everyone there. It'll be fun." She returned to her pile of dresses. "Now, come on. I just so happen to have a few things in your size."

"Shocking," Michael said, dry. 

Tilly just beamed. 

***

Michael settled on a floor-length olive green dress that draped rather than clung. Tilly wanted her to go with brighter, tighter options, but Michael resisted. They settled on a middle ground, Tilly commenting, "Well, at least you're showing some cleavage," like this was a victory. 

Frankly, Michael felt it dipped a little _too_ low in front, the deep V reaching halfway down her torso, but at least she could breathe in it. That was her own victory after the dresses Tilly made her try. Michael couldn't imagine how women wore those things; they were totally impractical. Tilly had sniffed that practical _wasn't the point_. 

Clearly, they had different dress priorities. Starting with the fact that Michael didn't even want to wear one, but when Tilly got that stubborn look on her face, it was useless arguing with her. 

So. Michael wore the dress and went to the party, Tilly by her side in a bright blue dress that made her eyes glow. Or maybe that was the drinks she kept handing Michael, staring at her until she drank them down. After three, she seemed to subside, nodding in approval and leaving Michael to get a fourth. 

The room did seem...softer after a few drinks, she had to admit. She took in the mess hall, the decorations at their peak, an explosion of color along every wall. Roving lights made them glint and glitter as people mingled—drank and laughed and danced, all of it scored by music pouring in from the sound system. At least it wasn't as loud as some of the other parties Tilly had made her attend, the kind where you couldn't even hear anyone speak over the pounding beat. 

This was a little more manageable, people talking animatedly, everyone seeming...content. Something about that made Michael smile; she bet Pike would be pleased to see it.

As if conjured from her thoughts, the crowd parted enough to reveal him, deep in conversation with Detmer and Owo. He carried a tumbler of something dark, his hands outlining as he spoke, clearly telling a story, the smiles on their faces indicating it was a good one. He had dressed for the occasion, too—black pants and a dark red sweater that was somehow professional while still managing to cling to every muscle in his arms and chest. Michael's mouth went dry as he raised his arms, the material stretching along his shoulders and back. He was really very...fit. 

Tilly returned with more drinks then, handing something red to Michael, who promptly took a gulp. 

"Whoa, someone's thirsty. What, is the heat getting to you?" Tilly asked, sipping her own orange drink delicately. 

"Yeah," Michael said, pulling her eyes away from Pike. "There are a lot of people in here."

"You're totally right. We should dance with them," Tilly decided, grabbing her arm and pulling. 

"How is that a solution to—" But Tilly just towed her into the dancing crowd, shaking her head like she couldn't hear.

Michael probably could have fought her harder, but as the room glittered and swirled she just grinned and went with it. 

***

Eventually, she wandered away from the dance floor, where Tilly was still bopping along with Owo and Detmer, moving toward the galley in search of water. The dancing and the drinks and the crush of people had gone to her head, the room swimming a little, Michael unused to this level of inebriation. 

Or any level of inebriation. Drinking was outside of her usual social activity. 

As she cleared the crowd, she heard a voice call out: "Hey, Burnham! Did I hear Pike kissed you?" 

Michael turned to find a young woman looking at her from one of the high tables, a frothy purple drink in her hand. Dark hair framed her face, wide green eyes staring at Michael with naked envy. She wore a bright red dress that clung to all her ample curves, the kind of figure that turned men's heads. Wells, she thought.

"That was _you_?" her friend asked, blue eyes widening in surprise. Her own dress was a filmy gold color, the kind of material that flowed over her like water when she moved. Larani, maybe? Michael wasn't thoroughly familiar with all the specialists. 

She swallowed her sudden embarrassment, not wanting to draw too much attention. She moved toward them, lowering her voice as she said, "It was nothing."

"Don't let Pike hear you say that making out with him was nothing," Larani said, dry. 

"We didn't—it was just a kiss on the cheek," Michael tried again, flushing at the image that bloomed before her eyes, Michael and Pike twined together, sharing taste. 

But no. That _hadn't happened_. 

"Oh," Larani said, clearly disappointed. "That's less fun."

"It wasn't like—it was just the mistletoe," Michael felt the need to go on, her mouth moving somewhat against her will, part of her shriveling inside that she was having to explain this. 

"Duh. But that doesn't mean you can't enjoy it." Wells swept her gaze down Michael's frame, head tilting in interest. "You're fucking hot, Burnham. You should definitely get out more."

"Keels," Larani said, tone disapproving.

"What? She should." Wells turned back to her. "I know at least three guys who would volunteer to peel that dress off you. With their teeth," she offered. "Probably some girls, too, but I haven't polled the lady-loving contingent in a while."

Michael's pulse pounded in her ears, the thought of _Pike_ peeling it off with his teeth making everything go bright and hot. "Um, well, that's—"

"Oh, my god, leave her alone," Larani said, tugging at Wells' arm. She looked to Michael once more. "Sorry you didn't get to make out with the captain. You do look fucking hot, though." 

And with that parting thought, she pulled Wells to the dance floor. 

***

Michael entered the galley, still in search of water, the specialists' suggestive comments playing on a loop in her head. The flush in her skin and muddle of her thoughts made her regret that last drink, truly. She needed to rehydrate. And then go to bed. She'd worn the dress and drank and danced. There was no way Tilly could accuse her of not participating after all that. 

She pulled up short when she realized she wasn't alone in the small room—Pike was just getting his own glass of water. One corner of his mouth lifted when he saw her, his eyes flicking over her dress quickly, like he couldn't help himself. 

Michael heated at the glint of appreciation in his eyes. His cheeks were flushed, doubtless from the drink she'd seen him carrying earlier. With the clinging sweater and the warmth in his gaze, her thoughts started getting...dangerous.

"Sir," she said, reminding herself of their roles. 

"Chris," he corrected, tilting his head a little. "We're off duty and this is a party."

Michael's mouth went dry at the name, such unexpected intimacy accompanying that single word. "...Chris," she finally said, more of that heat warming her, the room going hazy like she was still drinking. But that didn't make sense. 

Pike— _Chris_ —moved toward her, something fond in his expression. "I saw you dancing with Tilly earlier."

The fact that he'd been watching fluttered through her like a caress. "Tilly is very...enthusiastic."

He flashed a grin as he stopped by her side. "That she is." Then he sobered a little, a bit of consideration entering his gaze. "But I'm glad she dragged you along. You deserve some fun."

 _Satisfaction_ slipped through her, quickly followed by want. He'd thought about what she deserved. 

He'd thought about her. 

Michael controlled her expression as she looked up at him, his blue eyes still _watching_ her. "I've been doing some research, you know."

Chris raised an eyebrow at the non sequitur, then visibly went with the change in topic. "I'm sure you do all kinds." Michael didn't know why that seemed suggestive, only that it did. 

"Into mistletoe," she clarified.

He studied her, nothing she could read at all. "Ah."

"You were right that it's an old Earth tradition, but from everything I've read, a kiss on the cheek doesn't satisfy the requirement."

Chris' gaze sharpened, studying her face intently. "I figured some improvisation would be acceptable," he said, almost like a question. 

"Any good data set requires representative inputs," she informed him seriously, not even believing what was coming out of her mouth.

"Collecting data, are you," he said, eyes trained on her, a flicker of surprise there, followed by warmth, like looking into twin suns.

"I'm rigorous about my work." 

"Don't I know it." Then he tsked, light. "Shame on me, ruining your data," he murmured. "How ever can I make it up to you."

Michael took a final step closer, pressing against him, her hands coming up to curl in his sweater— _that sweater_ —as she said, "I have an idea," and tilted her head up to kiss him. 

Chris kissed her back, slow and careful, his lips moving against hers precisely, sending a jolt of _feeling_ down her spine. A hand cupped her cheek—a burst of warmth there—and then he was tilting her head and taking _control_ of the kiss. He slanted his mouth against hers, harder, and Michael fell into it, tingling starting in the fingers she had curled in his sweater, at the base of her spine. She swayed into him, moving where he led, part of her unable to process what was happening, but the majority firmly ignoring everything in favor of the desire spiraling through her. She made a soft noise against his mouth, Chris answering in kind, lapping at her bottom lip lightly, a request. 

Michael couldn't _imagine_ doing anything but opening her mouth. Chris kissed her harder, dipping his tongue _in_ , tasting like the dark burn of alcohol, heady and sharp. It made her groan, her whole body pulsing in time, heat pooling between her legs. 

At the sound, Chris stilled against her, a streak of tension sliding through his frame. Then his arm went around her and he crushed her to him, _taking_ her mouth. The kiss went fiery and intense, something claiming in it. She'd _never_ been kissed like this. 

Michael made helpless little noises into his mouth and dug her hands into his back, feeling the hard planes of his chest against her body. She wanted to feel this without clothes, his hands on her skin, somewhere soft to lie down, she—

A loud crash startled them apart, followed by a shouted, "Dammit! My bad, guys. Hang on, there's more glasses in the galley."

Michael stared at Chris, his arm still around her, her breasts pressed firmly to his chest, both of them panting. His mouth was red— _obscenely_ so—his eyes glassy and dark, looking at her like he'd never seen her before. 

He took a breath, startling for how it shook. And just like that, the moment was over, Chris stepping back with, "Have a good night, Michael."

Then he was gone. 

***

She had thought that first kiss distracted her. It turned out, she didn't even know what distracted _was_. All she could think about was his mouth on hers, his body pressed against her—a solid block of muscle that she wanted to _feel_ —memory replaying on an endless loop that sent uncontrolled _fire_ through her blood, making her flush anew every time. 

It was a _problem_. Her thoughts had never been this scattered, not with all the years she'd spent mastering herself, having to prove to everyone around her that she wasn't some weak-willed human. What they would think of her now. She kept having to ask people to repeat themselves, unable to keep hold of basic updates. It was horrifying. 

Part of her knew it was her inexperience. Vulcans did not touch, much less press against each other, all strong and unyielding. Her relationships had been brief, flings, with the exception of Ash. 

The other part of her knew that it was Chris himself. He was just...solid. Principled and kind, quick on the uptake, generous with his smiles. She could admit to herself that she found it all endlessly attractive. 

But she needed to get it under _control_. She had work to do. 

***

Michael couldn't help but stare at him throughout the midday briefing. Every time she looked away, her eyes were invariably drawn back—to his hands, to his mouth, to the way he moved. She couldn't help but remember exactly what he smelled like, felt like, _tasted_ like. She was keyed up, body tense and alive like the moment before a firefight, that tingling sense of anticipation. She wanted _more_. 

There was zero chance he didn't notice. _Saru_ seemed to notice, shooting her glances multiple times, though he wasn't obvious about it. Chris...he stayed above it all, proceeding with their red angel discussion like there was nothing else going on, just a friendly briefing, nothing to see here. 

The only thing that gave Michael any solace was the fact that it was _too_ casual. Too studied. Its very easiness betrayed him. If there was nothing else going on, he wouldn't need to work so hard to portray that nothing was going on. 

It was notable enough to make her brave, to get her to linger behind when the briefing broke. Chris didn't say anything until the others were gone, taking her in, eyes alight.

"Hi," he said, a low, fond note to it that told her this wasn't Captain Pike. This was Chris. 

"Hi," she replied, matching his tone. 

It made him smile, a brief flash of amusement that was there and gone in an instant. "Did you enjoy the party?" he asked gamely, like this was a conversation of no consequence. 

"It was adequate."

That made Chris raise an eyebrow. "Adequate?"

"I realized I didn't get the data I needed," Michael said, her mouth once again disconnecting from her brain. She deliberately refused to think about that, going with it. 

" _Really_." She'd surprised him with that, Chris looking at her like he was trying to see under her skin. 

Michael mmmed. "Confounding variables are the enemy of a good analysis. It's why we have controls."

"I'll _bet_ you have controls," he murmured, suggestion lacing through it.

Michael shot him a look. Whatever he saw in it made him twinkle at her as he leaned back against the conference table, hands resting on the black surface casually. "Out of curiosity, what confounding variable are we talking about?"

She moved toward him, feeling his eyes track her. _Liking_ how it sensitized her skin. "Alcohol consumption," she finally answered, stopping by his side. In this position, she had to look down at him a little. She wondered if that was purposeful; _I'm not above you here_. 

Chris nodded thoughtfully, like he found this eminently reasonable. "Yes, that would be an issue on both sides."

"So you see my concern. I'd hate to be working with bad data."

"How terrible that would be," he agreed, eyes steady on her face, nothing but warm welcome in him.

Which really made it quite necessary for Michael to lean down and press her mouth to his, hands moving to cradle his jaw as they kissed, the tips of her fingers pressing to the soft skin just behind. 

Chris opened his mouth immediately, no hesitation, sweeping his tongue against hers like it was all he'd been thinking about, too. The idea made something inside her tremble. 

Michael leaned into him, feeling his warmth sink into her as she lost herself in the kiss, his mouth skillfully taking her apart. He teased at the underside of her tongue, breaking the kiss when she tried to counter, then returning to explore some more. A heavy _want_ pulsed through her, Michael desperate to have his mouth stay on hers, to have all his focus on her. She bit his bottom lip and gripped the back of his neck, which only served to make him laugh into her mouth, unrepentant and still somehow inviting. She bit him again for that—

"Bridge to Captain Pike," Bryce's voice rang out, freezing them both, Michael uncomfortably aware that she was pressed up against her commanding officer, the two of them making out messily like that was at all professional.

Chris pulled back, staring at Michael as he said, "Pike here."

"Admiral Cornwell for you, sir."

Michael stiffened, instantly stepping away, feeling a new kind of flush in her cheeks. 

She could still feel Chris' eyes on her as he said, "Put her through to my ready room."

Michael could not get out of there fast enough. 

***

And then it turned into a _thing_. Whenever they were alone, she found herself crowding into his space, pressing her mouth to his, letting everything else fade away. 

So she could just _feel_.

Michael knew that if she actually stopped to think about it, she would have to wrestle with some difficult questions. Questions she didn't want to answer, questions that sounded vaguely like Tilly. So for once in her life, she ruthlessly suppressed the instinct to analyze, to consider, to logic. 

She didn't...need that part of her brain right now. 

*** 

Michael waited, tense, as the turbolift slowed to the level Linus had indicated. Chris stood next to her, silent, but she could _feel_ him, all her senses reaching for him, anticipating the moment they could be alone. 

And then it happened, Linus taking his leave with a nod, the doors sealing shut behind him. 

Michael instantly pushed Chris against the turbolift wall, startling a laugh out of him, one she _tasted_ as she brought their mouths together, rushed and hot. The humor quickly drained away, Chris groaning into her mouth as he returned the kiss, bringing his arms around her. He touched her more now, after a few days of this, light hands skimming her body, never pushing things further, just touch for the sake of touch. It made her think of what he must be like in bed, all patience and gentle hands. It made her _want_. 

Chris nipped at her mouth, biting little kisses that drove her to distraction, easing them out of the intensity as the turbolift slowed. He broke the kiss, holding one hand to her cheek, just staring at her for a breath—

Then he cleared his throat and stepped away, back to the center of the turbolift, the captain once more, just in time for the doors to open and admit Nhan. She flicked her eyes from Chris to Michael, walking in with a murmured, "Captain. Commander."

Michael didn't know why she felt caught, but she did. Still, she swallowed it, nodding shortly, pretending there was nothing going on here.

Nothing at all. 

***

Michael didn't expect to find him in the sparring gym at 0500, hitting one of the dummies with brutal force, covered in a light sheen of sweat that made him look like he was subtly glowing. 

She _really_ didn't expect the short-sleeved shirt. The sight of the muscles in his arms sent her mind spiraling as she marched up to him, took his arm and spun him, planting him back against the dummy as she pressed her mouth to his. 

Chris breathed out in surprise, mouth opening, and Michael took advantage, licking _in_ , twining their tongues together. He tasted like coffee and frustration, as if he woke and his morning cup didn't do the trick; he'd needed something more to wake him up. 

Michael could think of a few things. 

After he moved past the surprise, Chris kissed her back, fierce, gloved hands coming up to pull her body into his, rougher than he usually was. Michael dragged herself against him, feeling his spiking energy, the edges that he normally hid. This was Chris unleashed, such as he could be, and it heated her up, knowing that he had this in him. 

She heard the door open and was moving before the thought registered, hooking a foot around Chris' ankle and sending him sprawling to the mat. She looked down at him, knowing her chest was heaving like they'd been fighting, although they'd been doing anything but. 

Michael turned to find Rhys in the doorway, watching her with big eyes. "Whoa, sparring with the captain? You're braver than I, Burnham," Rhys joked, moving to one of the other sparring dummies. 

From the mat, Chris stared up at her, eyes heated. "Yes, the commander is very brave."

***

One thing about gamma shift that Michael really liked—the deserted science lab. She could get her research done without too many questions being asked. When she was able, she saved complex problems for this shift, the things she really needed silence and time to work through. 

Which made it all the more surprising when the door opened—

And Chris walked in. He frowned, clearly not expecting her either. "Would you happen to know if Lieutenant Linden compiled that red angel brief before she went off shift?"

Michael consulted the screens before her, seeing it loaded up in the queue. "Yes, the computer's still gathering the background data, but it should be automatically forwarded to you with those supporting documents when it's ready."

"Great," he said, not moving to leave. 

And in that breath, Michael realized they were alone. Likely for a while. 

It only took three steps to get to him and then Chris was pulling her in, their mouths colliding in a heated tangle that stole her breath. No matter how often they did this, it didn't get any less overwhelming, the sheer presence of Chris stealing her ability to think. He kissed her, lush and involved, no hesitance in him at all, just shared pleasure. 

Michael gripped his shoulders and let him take a bit of her weight as she sucked on his tongue, getting a groan for it. Chris propelled them on until Michael's back hit the console table, giving her the leverage she needed to press herself against him as they devoured each other, wet and hot. There was an edge of desperation to it now, one she felt within herself, but also in his trembling body, like he was holding himself in check through sheer force of will. 

Dimly, she heard a sound—

"What the fuck?" The muttered voice broke them apart, Michael glimpsing the sheen of lust in his eyes before he turned. She followed suit—

To find Tilly staring at them, mouth half-open in shock. 

Michael suddenly remembered that Tilly staring at them was how this all started—

And she _flushed_ , embarrassment seizing her, that feeling of being caught taking hold. 

"Are you kidding me? You two have been canoodling and I was not informed? That is not—there are _rules_ ," Tilly said sternly, waving a hand at the two of them, still curled around each other.

The corner of Chris' mouth lifted. "Evening, Ensign." Then he turned back to Michael, gaze once again calm and controlled. He pulled away from her. "I'll let you two talk."

He left without another word, Michael watching his retreating form, helpless not to. 

Not Tilly. She stared at Michael like she had no words. "Seriously, how. _How_ did you keep this from me?"

Michael swallowed, cold overtaking her. She didn't want to talk about this. "It's not like that." She turned back to the console. Back to her _work_.

"Oh, no. No no no. You don't get to brush me off after I walk in on you playing tonsil hockey with the captain," Tilly said, coming around the table to face her. "Spill."

Michael blanched. "Tonsil—never mind. It's nothing."

"I dunno what definition you're working off of, but the way you and Pike were just trying to consume each other is no one's idea of 'nothing.' That was like, supernova hot. What's hotter than hot? Like, the limit does not exist hot. That. That's what I walked in on." 

Michael swallowed. She tried to imagine what they'd looked like, locked together in that heady moment, but she shied away. She was getting good at _not thinking_ about any of this.

But Tilly would not be deterred, studying her keenly. "Wait. Is this because of the mistletoe?"

Michael's eyes _flew_ to hers. How could she possibly—

"Wait, it _is_?" She did a little victory dance, grinning. "I am _totally_ taking credit for you two. Tell me everything."

"I'm—we're not...together," she managed. 

Tilly just blinked at her. "Uh-huh," she said, her tone calling her a liar, and a terrible one, at that. 

"We're not," Michael insisted. "We just—I just—when we're alone, we end up—" She gestured vaguely. "Like that."

"Right, and who initiates these little trysts?" Tilly asked, even.

Michael winced at "trysts," but said nothing.

"So you," Tilly decided. "And how many other people are you doing this with?"

Michael glared at her. 

"So none." Tilly shook her head. "Let me see if I have this straight. He kissed you under the mistletoe, you caught some feelings, and instead of _talking_ about them, you go around pushing him against things and trying to crawl inside him _through his mouth_. Did I miss anything?"

Michael swallowed, wishing she could refute any part of that. She shot Tilly a mutinous look. "I was doing very well not thinking about it." 

"Boy, are those days done," she said, bright. "Now tell me why you're hiding this."

"I'm not—"

"Super are," she said, undeterred. "It can't just be that you want to bang Pike. Everybody wants to bang Pike. He's the most bangable captain in the fleet—don't look at me like that, there are _lists_ , and he's on top of them. So what is it, Michael?"

Michael shook her head, wrestling with the thing she'd been avoiding. Of course Tilly would push the matter. Of course. 

"I promise not to judge you," Tilly coaxed, tone telling Michael to trust her. 

Michael swallowed and looked down. "...I like him," she admitted, soft. "I liked him before the mistletoe."

When she raised her eyes to Tilly, her expression had gone sympathetic. "And you haven't liked anyone since Tyler," she guessed. 

Michael nodded. 

"And you thought, what? Making out with him would minimize the risk?" Tilly was shakier on that guess, though still on target. 

Michael nodded again. 

"Yeah, hate to say it, but feelings don't work like that."

"They could," Michael protested. 

"Do you feel particularly satisfied?" Tilly asked, dry.

Michael took in the low heat still roiling within her, thinking of the way their encounters had gotten progressively more...intense. 

"...no."

Tilly flared her hands, a nonverbal _like I said_. "To get what you really want from him, you're gonna have to talk to him about it." Michael frowned at her, but Tilly just rolled her eyes. "Come on, you can't just keep jumping on him. He's been here five minutes and even I can tell he's not that guy. Hell, I'm shocked he's let it get this far."

"But if I talk to him, and if it even becomes _something_ , it could all...go bad," she said, remembering the last time things had gone bad, the feeling of Ash's hands around her throat. 

"First of all, you two have clearly been ending up in compromising positions for _days_ now; I think he's interested. Second, Pike is nothing like Tyler," she said with that devastating directness, like she had a comm link straight to Michael's fears. 

"But how do I keep from getting hurt?" she asked, small, stumbling over it a little. 

Tilly shrugged. "You don't. That's the price of connection. The question is, do you want it or not?"

***

Michael wrestled with it all throughout her shift, getting none of her research done, much to her annoyance. But with time and space she realized Tilly was right. The status quo was untenable and Chris would call her on it eventually, especially given their...trajectory. She might as well face it head-on, like an officer.

She went to his ready room after shift, when she knew he liked to read over reports. Quiet time. 

He looked up when she walked in, smiling in welcome, but without the heat of their previous encounters. That made Michael realize she'd chosen the correct course. Tilly catching them had changed things for both of them. 

"Have a good chat with Tilly?" he asked, jumping right in. 

"She has a way of putting things in perspective," Michael said, rueful. 

"I've noticed."

"I just wanted to say, I'm...sorry about the way—I mean, I don't usually—that is. This is a bit...new. For me," she fumbled, trying to find words that had seemed so clear earlier.

Chris took her in, calm as always. "I gathered," he murmured, standing and moving around his desk. 

"It's just that—the last time I—I'm not good at talking about my feelings," she settled on, clear on that, at least. "I don't—" She made a helpless gesture. "Do this."

Chris nodded, stepping to her, eyes so very soft. He took both her hands in his, bringing them up to his mouth and kissing her knuckles gently. "Michael, whatever you want? You can have." His eyes were so blue, so _earnest_ , and Michael had no idea what to say to that, overwhelmed. 

He seemed to sense that, sympathetic. "And you don't have to decide right now." With one more quirk of his mouth, he was gone. 

***

Tilly stared at her. "He said you can have whatever you want. You want orgasms, Michael. _Orgasms_. What are you still _doing_ here?"

Heat swept through her, that image flaring in her mind, Chris' eyes blue and hot as he kissed his way down her body. 

But no. She needed to think rationally. "I can't let my—my desire dictate my actions," she insisted. 

"Why the hell not? When Captain Bangable offers sex, you accept, have I taught you nothing?"

"Because it's not just sex, is it?" Michael asked, soft now. 

Tilly made a frustrated gesture. "He said whatever you want. That means the orgasms and his stupidly perfect everything, _but also the orgasms_."

"Tilly," Michael said, tone chiding. 

Tilly deflated. "Ugh, fine." Then she straightened. "Is this about Tyler?"

Michael stiffened. "No. I just...now it feels...real."

"And?"

"It's a lot. He's the captain. He's _Captain Pike_. He's my commanding officer. Spock serves with him and—" She broke off when she caught sight of Tilly's smile. "What?"

"You wouldn't be freaking out this much if you weren't invested. Stop fighting so hard when good things come into your life. _Take the win_."

***

Michael shook out her hands, waiting for the answer to her chime. It was after shift, so she knew he'd be in his quarters, probably winding down from the day. She didn't know what that meant for him. 

She wanted to. 

Another beat and the doors opened, Chris standing there, wearing blue sleep pants and a gray shirt, the soft material clinging to him. He was clearly surprised to see her. "Hi."

"Tilly said I want orgasms," Michael said, brain short-circuiting at the sight of him in sleep clothes, rumpled and relaxed. 

Chris huffed a startled laugh. "I don't even know where to start with that."

"Invite me in?" she asked, eyes trained on his. 

Chris stepped back and gestured in welcome. 

Michael walked into his quarters, taking in the homey feel of the space, divided into sections—meal area, sitting area, his desk, his bedroom. The earth-toned decorations weren't the standard-issue Starfleet gear. He'd clearly put effort into making this space his own. Something about that touched her. 

She turned to face him, clocking how he waited until she was ready, patient and considering. "In my last relationship, I got hurt. It was...surprising."

Chris cocked his head like he hadn't expected that, expression gentling. "I'm sorry that happened to you," he murmured, sounding like he truly was, mournful for anything that would cause her pain. 

"Since then, I haven't really wanted to..." She trailed off as he nodded, seeming to get it. "But then you took command. I was doing well with staying...distant, but uhh—"

"Mistletoe," he offered, nodding. 

"I maintain that that is an absurd tradition," she said. 

Chris smiled and stepped toward her. "You won't get an argument here." 

Michael mirrored him, stepping _into_ his space. "I like you," she said, pressing her hand to his cheek. "I was trying to have it both ways before. The closeness, but without having to admit that."

Chris covered her hand with his. "And I like you."

"You said I can have whatever I want. I want to...be together. Not just pushing you against the wall in turbolifts," she clarified, flushing a little. 

The corners of his eyes crinkled. "Hey, that has its charms."

Michael smiled, nodding the point. She let the smile drop away, studying his face. "I just don't know if you want the same thing. Which is fine, I realize—"

"Michael," he said, squeezing her hand. "I do."

She took a shaky breath, trying to understand the contours of this. "And if I'd come here and said I just wanted sex? Some fun."

His gaze went considering. "We'd be having a different conversation right now."

Michael frowned, not understanding. "You let me manhandle you. I treated you like a—a plaything."

"You were working through something," he corrected, kind.

"I'm sorry," she said, feeling like she owed him that. 

"I'm a big boy, Michael. Nothing to forgive."

Michael was horrified to feel herself flush, unexpected heat sweeping through her as her mind latched onto that and...went places. 

Chris flashed a grin, seeming delighted. "Really? _That's_ where you went?"

She leaned up to kiss him, purely to forestall the teasing. She reveled in the press of their mouths for a moment, relishing that they had all the time they wanted, no one poised to catch them. She pulled back a little to breathe against his lips, "You're very distracting."

His eyes gleamed at her, knowing. "However can I make it up to you," he drawled, echoing the first time she'd kissed him, that intimate note back in his voice, like when he called her "Commander" and all she could think was sex. 

"Bedroom?"

He flashed a grin, then kissed her again, backing her toward the bedroom, stealing her mind by alternating between little nips and searching kisses.

Michael gasped as she fell back onto the bed, having lost track of things, Chris all she could see, pleasure already buzzing through her. He didn't immediately follow her, pausing to pull off her boots, one at a time, something suggestive in the flick of his wrist. 

" _How_ do you make that hot?" she asked, staring as he started on her socks, getting another little grin in response. 

"I can't imagine what you mean. This is purely functional." The kiss he laid on the arch of her foot made her whole _body_ shudder. 

He helped her out of the rest of her clothes, murmuring appreciatively at the skin revealed, losing himself in kissing her all over, fingers exploring, stoking the heat inside her. Only when she plucked at his own clothes, making unhappy noises, did he relent and undress himself. 

Michael's breath caught when he finally did, moving back to her, all bunched muscle and warm skin. She pressed her hand to his chest, fingernails scratching through his chest hair, feeling the solid muscle underneath. She'd gotten derailed by him in a short-sleeved shirt. Being naked in bed with him was wholly overwhelming, arousal pooling between her legs.

"Distracting?" he asked, dipping his head to catch her eye, smiling a little. 

Michael blew out a short breath. "You have no idea."

Chris ran his fingers from her cheek to her chin, smile softening. "I might have some." He leaned down to kiss her, bringing their bodies together. Michael made a pleased noise, hands moving over him, tracing all the skin she could reach. She pulled him on top of her, sucking on his tongue. 

Chris caught himself, angling to the side. "Don't want to crush you," he murmured against her mouth. 

Michael made a negative noise, tugging at him. "I want to feel you. Just like this."

He pulled out of the kiss to look at her for a long beat, then brought their mouths together again as he covered her body with his. "Well, we're gonna be talking about that," he said, low. 

"Later," she agreed, relishing the feel of him pressing her down, the total safety of him surrounding her. She arched against him as much as she could, skin tingling at all the sensory input, abruptly aware of his cock pressing into her hip. She did it again, rubbing herself against him, teasing. 

Chris breathed out, uncontrolled, and pleasure snaked through her at the idea that she could make him lose his cool. Michael moved her hand, fingers tracing over his cock delicately, Chris sucking in a breath. "That's—ahh—" he gasped, losing his train of thought. 

Michael firmed her hand, stroking between them, even though the angle was difficult. "Yes?" she asked against his mouth, teasing.

Chris covered her hand, meeting her eyes. "If you want anything more, best to table that." 

"Oh, really," she said, kissing along his jaw. 

"You're pretty distracting yourself," he said.

Michael swallowed as that _pulsed_ through her, pooling down low, Chris admitting that he affected her, too. She took hold of his hand and pressed it between her legs, where she was wet and _aching_. She gasped as he pressed his fingers _in_ , voice rumbling, "Michael," in her ear, pulling his fingers out and thrusting them in again. 

Her body _lit up_ , Chris' touch expert and sure, thumb moving to play over her clit, making Michael gasp and grip him tight. She found his mouth again, muscles already trembling, trying to focus with him touching her right where she wanted. "Come on," she said, gasping. 

"Like this?" he breathed, hunger in his voice, nodding to their position. 

"Please," she said, winding her arms around his shoulders goading him on. 

Chris shifted, settling between her legs, hitching one wider, over his hip. He held her eyes as he pushed inside her, the pleasure making her throw her head back before he was even fully seated. He kissed her jaw, then down her neck as he rocked into her, Michael gasping how good, how hot, how perfect it was. Sweat mingled between them, her heart beating so fast, everything slippery and bright as he fucked her harder, Michael urging him on. 

" _Chris_ ," she gasped when he pressed his hand between them, playing over her clit again, pleasure suddenly sharp and insistent.

" _Yeah_ ," he breathed before kissing her, thrusting into her and touching her over and over until everything narrowed to him, bright spots dancing behind her eyes as he pushed her over the edge, coming like the best kind of freefall, her whole body tightening around him.

Chris moaned and lost control, jerking into her in a few long pulses, panting against her shoulder. 

They stayed like that, sweaty and fused together, until Chris mouthed his way up her neck to kiss her lips, reverent. He pulled back to look in her eyes, smiling a little. Then he pulled out of her, shifting away, pressing all along her side as he trailed a finger over her body. It was light, just simple connection, and it made something inside Michael _ache_.

After a few more quiet moments, he took a breath. "I don't know what happened with your last relationship, but I don't want to hurt you, Michael. Your happiness has become particularly important to me. I know I can't promise anything, but I figure, we try for honest communication, that gives us a shot."

Michael turned toward him and nodded. He nodded back, leaning in to kiss her again. He stayed close, smiling softly. "Now, to other important matters: right side or left?" he asked, looking to the bed. 

She laughed, once. "I wouldn't know."

"Time for you to collect more data, then," he said easily, accepting. 

She _hmmed_ , stretching. "I'm learning to enjoy it."

"Said no researcher ever," he teased. 

Michael moved close and pressed her mouth to his, smiling against his lips. "That depends entirely on what you plan to study."

***

Fin. Feedback is adored.


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